Fear 2
by bloodrosered
Summary: After her father dies in a plane crash, Sara Walker has to live with her uncle. Her Queen Bee cousin, Nicole, has a psychotic boyfriend, David. Rated M for violence, disturbing images, sexuality, and a scene of teen pranks. Remake of 'Fear','Ring','Carrie


"Fear cannot kill you. But..."

-Resident Evil

Chapter 1

"Ladies and gentlemen," said the stewardess. "Please fasten your seatbelts and remain seated until the captain has turned off the seatbelt light. Also to remind you that smoking is prohibited during the flight. Thank you and have a lovely flight."

Chris Walker fastened his seatbelt and opened his briefcase to make sure he had everything he needed; he just wished he could have a cigarette, flying made him nervous. Mr. Walker was a businessman who often had to leave home to go on business trips. Today he was going to Tokyo, Japan. He found a photograph of his sixteen-year-old daughter, Sara. She was in Eola County Psychiatric. Why? That girl brought chills up his spine; she showed him lots of things...terrible, horrible things that drove him crazy. Often times, he pretended he didn't have a daughter. He never had pictures of her on his desk at his office, not even a wallet-sized photo. Perhaps she had put it in his briefcase to remind him that she existed.

Mr. Walker put the picture in his briefcase; God, she looked so much like his wife, Annie: black hair, big black eyes, pale. Poor Annie was dead. She was just as crazy as Sara until she took a drill to her left temple to bore the images out. He remembered seeing the blood and brains all over in the tub and Annie dead.

Mr. Walker closed his briefcase and closed his eyes, rubbing his temples. There were images...horrible images: a large white ring, a face in the window, a chair in an empty space, faces in the mirror...

Sara's voice echoed: "You saw it, Daddy...she's coming, Daddy...you saw it..." Then more images: seven severed fingers, twitching in a box, bloody water going down the drain, a fogged face behind glass, and a stone well. He heard screams, horrible high-pitched screams...

Mr. Walker woke up with a cold sweat and chills up his spine. Was it all a dream or was it real? He shook it off. He went to take a drink from his coffee, ignoring the wet ring on his newspaper.

Soon, the plane jolted and the engines screamed. People began to scream as well.

"Mayday, mayday..." said the captain. "This is Flight 117. We have lost control."

"Ladies and gentlemen," said the stewardess. "We ask you to please remain calm while we try to emergency land."

But the plane only hit the water with the force of a charging bull and then, there was a fiery explosion...

A black crayon trailed across the white paper with its paper coating ripped off. Sara's black eyes stared down at the paper, drawing a picture of a plane crashing, yellow and orange flames on the wings, people screaming as they dove out of the windows falling to their death in a watery grave, blue ocean with hungry sharks with jaws wide open to eat survivors or victims...just what she drew on this piece of paper almost seemed childlike.

Sara Walker was sixteen, yet she seemed much younger facially. She was thin, pale with long black hair with big black eyes with large shadows under them, making her seem like a sick, suffering person. One could see her collarbones through her skin and the shadows in the hollows of her neck. Her head was cast downward, avoiding all eye contact as much as possible.

The schedule was always the same at Eola County Psychiatric Hospital: 7:00 wake up, 7:30 shower, brush teeth, get dressed, make the bed, 8:00 breakfast, 8:30 group therapy, 9:00 medication time, 10:00-11:00 quiet time, 12:00 lunch, 12:30 medication time again, 1:00-2:00 TV or quiet time again or outside time, 2:30 group therapy again, 3:00-5:00 quiet time again, 6:00 dinner, 6:30 medication time again, 7:00 group therapy again, 7:30 brush teeth, pajamas, 8:00 quiet reading time before bed, and 9:00 bed. No one was to be out of bed after 9:00 unless they needed to use the toilet. Cameras were all over the ward: in the hall, bedrooms, showers and bathroom, the nurses' station, cafeteria, even in the solitary confinement room.

It was now quiet time. Patients played games, watched TV, drew pictures, talked, wrote letters. An old man was dancing with himself while a woman whispered: "I'm tired, so tired..." repeatedly. Some stared out the window, at the cameras, or stared into space. A woman with Tourette's kept screaming: "Bullshit!" repeatedly while an autistic patient rocked back and forth on the floor with his eyes rolled and a schizophrenic kept talking to himself and a catatonic patient stood in a frozen in an odd pose in a corner.

What was wrong with Sara, you may ask? Diagnosis was post-traumatic stress syndrome with schizophrenia, possibly disorganized or paranoia, no doctor could be sure because her symptoms were unusual. Sara knew this wasn't true; she knew something was wrong with her, she just couldn't figure it out. She could push things with just a glare, see things in her mind, particularly images, and hear soft whispers in her mind. She was telekinetic, telepathic and clairvoyant, yet she was unaware of it.

"That's very interesting, Sara," said the nurse. "What is it?"

"My Daddy's plane crashing," she said quietly.

"That's very nice," said the nurse, trying to sound enthusiastic. "I like the colors."

"You don't have to talk to me like a child," she said. "I'm sixteen. Please treat me like an adult. Now if you don't mind, I want to finish my drawing."

"I'm sorry, Sara. I didn't mean to interrupt. Would you like some lunch? It's grilled cheese day."

"Maybe later."

She was too busy remembering her father's last visit to the psychiatric ward: in that little room with one table and two chairs.

"Daddy," she said, quietly. "You watched it..."

"What do you mean 'I watched it'?"

"The tape."

"What tape?"

"Katie's tape."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Sara."

"Katie's tape. She showed you, didn't she?" She was quiet again.

"Is this why I've been seeing things, Sara? Why am I seeing these things? What's happening to me?"

Sara only took his hand and made four fingers. "Four days," she whispered.

"Four days until what?"

"She will show you."

"Who? Who will show me?"

"Not now, Daddy. In four days, you will know..."

"Sara, stop talking crazy. Tell me what's happening to me! Why are all these things happening to me?"

"I told you. Katie will show you in four days."

"You're crazy!"

"I'm not...this is for real, Daddy."

Daddy got up and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. She hasn't seen him since. She kept track of the days...his last days...

DAY 1: Daddy watched the tape; the phone rang and let him know he only had seven days to live

DAY 2: Daddy went to his business meeting in Seattle, experienced the first side effects: visions

DAY 3: More side effects: visions and voices.

DAY 4: Daddy visited Sara, experienced more visions

DAY 5: More symptoms

DAY 6: Daddy packs his bags for Tokyo, Japan business meeting

DAY 7: Daddy's plane crashes along with 237 people that didn't deserve to die

Sara listened to the news on the TV in the other room. She heard:  
"Today's report, a plane crash, Flight 117, has crashed over the Pacific Ocean as it was leaving Seattle Airport. Over 237 passengers were reported to have died. The search has already begun and so far, the bodies from the plane have not been found..."

_Of course, they won't be found,_ Sara thought. _They'll never find them. _

A nurse walked up to Sara and tapped her on the shoulder.

"Sara, I'm sorry to bother you, but there are two men who wish to speak with you."

Sara put down her crayons and the nurse lead her to the visiting room. There were two men dressed in black with serious expressions on their faces. They looked important looking because of the way their suits looked.

"Sara Walker?" said one of the men.

"Yes?" she said in a voice barely a whisper.

"We're your father's solicitors. Do you know what that is?"

Sara just shook her head.

"Well, never mind. We're here to tell you that your father is dead. We discovered that he was one of the passengers on the plane that crashed today. I'm very sorry."

Sara said nothing.

"He left in his will," said the other man. "That you are the sole beneficiary to his entire estate, bank account, etc. Also, in his will, if anything should happen, that you are to go live with his younger brother, Steven. He has a daughter about your age, Nicole, I believe. Do you know her?"

"She's a bitch," she said. "That's what she is."

She hated her cousin, Nicole. Nicole considered herself the Queen Bee of the Walkers. She had all the qualities to be the Queen Bee: bitchy mean, selfish, and spoiled.

"I see," said one of the men. "Anyway, we're going to move all your things to Steven Walker's house. We'll sign a release form and have a limo pick you up at noon. Is there anything else?"

"No," she said.

"Very well, then. I guess we'll see you until noon."


End file.
